


Champion of Nothing

by ImagineBlaqk



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Hawke, F/M, M/M, Multi, Playing With Classes, Rite of Tranquility, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tranquil Hawke, Tranquility - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineBlaqk/pseuds/ImagineBlaqk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daughter. Friend. Lover. Mage. Champion. These are all things that Aisling Hawke, in no particular order, happens to be and could become in the years that follow after the exodus from Ferelden, her home, to the "free city" of Kirkwall in the Free Marches. There's only one slight problem: upon arriving, with her family, Aisling - called "Ace" by her loved ones - was summarily forced into the Rite of Tranquility. Now a Tranquil, robbed of her emotions, her connection to the Fade, and a great deal of her sense of self, it is left to her siblings to tame mighty Kirkwall without her... or is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a fic that has been simmering on the back burner for ages. I have, quite possibly, had this thing on my mind for several years, yet I've never gotten around to writing it... until now. It will, hopefully, span across the entire game of Dragon Age II - from Act 1 to Act 3, with snippets of the intermediate times - and, quite possibly, some things said of Dragon Age: Inquisition. So, that being said, it will be quite long, as you can imagine, and will take quite a bit of time - most of my ideas seem to be large, sprawling things like that - so, please, do be patient with me!
> 
> Note: Any dates, calendar months, or holidays I might mention at any time in this story have been taken from the wiki, so aren't actually a creation of mine. There are no actual given dates of when Acts begin or end, though the game, coinciding with the Fifth Blight, does begin in 9:30 Dragon - again, no actual month - so this story begins somewhere in 9:31 Dragon, with some months of leeway given with passage from Gwaren to Kirkwall and other travel issues so, through Varric's narration, those dates can be estimated and extrapolated, but they're my guesses, not necessarily canon. It will essentially end - if I decide not to encroach upon Dragon Age: Inquisition and don't get caught up with other things - in 9:40 Dragon, one year before DAI and the destruction of the Conclave. So, yeah, I get ten-odd years to play with. What joy!
> 
> Note the Second: For reference, and for the sake of having it here, Thedas has a twelve-month calendar, with those months having thirty days each, and have five universal holidays each year. The holidays happen on the first of each month on which they fall. There are two names for each month, the Tevinter Imperium's names for them and the "low", common names that the Southern nations use. I will be using the more common ones - besides, screw Latin! Those months are Wintermarch, with the First Day holiday, Guardian with Wintersend, Drakonis, Cloudreach, Bloomingtide with Summerday, Justinian, Solace (*snort*), August with All Soul's Day, Kingsway, Harvestmere, Firstfall with Satinalla, and Haring.
> 
> Note C: The Mature rating will come in quite a lot later than most would probably appreciate, but it will happen!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own any of the characters from the Dragon Age franchise - that all goes to Bioware, EA, and Origin (whoever wants to claim responsibility for what I'm about to do to them, really). I would, however, like to say that if someone attempts to rip off this story and turn it out as their own, I am not afraid to say that I will curse you to the Fade and back. Tevinter Magisters ain't got nothin on me, son.

Carver is back.

He is sitting in the chair by the desk in my small chambers, fiddling with loose threads on his tunic. I note this and, as I walk through my door, that his sword is leaning against said desk without its sheath and I ponder the ramifications of telling him to be more careful with my things. I decide against it, as the desk isn't even owned by me—it's the Chantry's – and I barely use it as it is. He is the only reason I have the chair at the desk at all, otherwise, my room would be quite utilitarian—just like every other housing chamber in Kirkwall's Chantry.

He is my only visitor, as it is. It makes him comfortable, so it stays. He smiles at me, a sort of wavering twist of his lips, and I give him a much more placid variation in return as I cross the scant few feet to my bed to sit. Both are forced anyway.

"So," Carver starts, with a rough clearing of his throat as he fidgets more, looking down at his dirty boots. The silence drags on and I turn my face towards the single window in my room as nonchalantly as I can, averting my eyes so I can only see him in my periphery. The Chantry garden is out there, both medicinal herbs, shrubs and bushes, and the occasional fruit bearing tree. It is sunny and bright this morning, with a gentle breeze blowing the flowering plants, and a few birds frolicking in the few fountains. My room, some of the sisters and initiates whisper, has one of the best views in the Chantry. Too bad I can't actually appreciate it, they sneer afterward. "Our work with Athenril ended today."

Right, I think. The elven smugglers he and Bethany had been indentured to. The old me would have probably made a snarky remark about Gamlen and his debts having done at least something good for our family. Experience with the Undercity and its ilk was useful. Instead, I simply glance back over with a raised eyebrow, "Oh?"

It works. Carver immediately begins to expand upon their new plan of action. Now that they're out from underneath the thumb, and protection, of Athenril's smuggling and racketeering business, he and Bethany are essentially sitting ducks. Well, Bethany is, at least, being a mage in a city notorious for its mage-hunting Templars. Normally, if caught she would simply be dragged back into the Circle at The Gallows and kept under lock and key. Maybe solitary confinement or extra guards set up to watch her for any vulnerability or weakness. After me, though... well. One infraction in a family is one thing. Two, and hiding the fact? It wouldn't be pretty. Carver might be able to get out relatively unscathed, but Bethany would follow in my footsteps—or worse. Mother would never survive that.

Apparently, there is an expedition coming together to venture into the Deep Roads for...whatever they can find and isn't nailed down. Carver hopes to convince the organizer of the expedition, a dwarf merchant by the name of Bartrand Tethras, to allow him and our sister on as guards. It's not that bad of a plan, really, and it's not like I have any alternatives—the restitution gifted to them by the Chantry for my... injury is good enough to live off of but it won't get them out of Lowtown. Then again, there's no doubt that Gamlen won't manage to gamble or whore as much of the money as he can when he can, so it's probably best that they have some sort of plan. The Deep Roads is full of lost riches and artifacts, so they're sure to find some things of value. They'll be paid well for it, even if it's only guarding the others.

I tell him this, in a voice that has very little inflection and with barely a blink of reaction to my, admittedly, blunt break down. Carver doesn't even scowl a bit and though there is a frown it's tinged with pain, not anger. The old Carver would have done his best to pick a fight from any number of my words, would have spat on and scoffed and pouted resentfully at me from that chair. This one, though, merely sits there and listens before nodding sadly, eyes staring into the empty space beneath my bed before flickering up to my face and back. It would probably be disheartening, even depressing, to see this change in my little brother, had things been different. He catches my eyes on one of those glances, winces, and resolutely begins to babble to cover the silence.

"I think I'll go pick up Bethany from the market—did I mention she's gotten to know Elegant, who's now Lady Elegant, the little prissy bint got herself married now, so she hangs out there at her potions' stall a lot, think she might be thinking of picking up the craft... Anyway, I'll be grabbing her after..after this and heading back up to the Dwarven Merchant's Guild office to talk with Bartrand. Think I should get it done before someone else snatches up the positions. Our mother probably won't be happy about it, she would probably say I should think more about it, but it's...it's a good opportunity. Can't let it go to waste." Carver coughs, seemingly uncomfortable now that he's done, and I turn to face him again. "Enough about me, though. How.. How've you been, sister?"

I give him a small smile, making sure to crinkle my eyes as I do it, and start in on about my week. It's the twelfth day of Cloudreach, a day away from the end of the second week, so I haven't actually been all that busy in the Chantry proper—next month, I mention, will be more busy with Summerday what with all the marriages that are likely to be performed, as well as the procession of young children that will be coming by to learn about the responsibilities of adulthood so I probably won't have much time for our visits—but I still do list the duties I've performed. Each day is relatively the same, what with being only a Cleric I mostly take care of things in the archives and the libraries, and helping out in the kitchens, keeping the upper levels orderly, or, rarely, helping with the orphans.

For not the first time, as I talk Carver has this pinched look on his face, as if he has something he wants to say. I could probably guess that it's something to do with my workload, which seems like quite time consuming and dull, but he says nothing, listening and silently nodding. Before, I would have said something along the lines of, "Of course it's dull. It's not like I could enjoy it if it wasn't or be bothered that it is," but that would be needlessly cruel, so I don't. Instead, I talk of the things I found in and around the pews, the things cooked in the kitchens that most pleasing to my palate, and the confessions I've heard in shadows alcoves of the upper levels. It eases the tension in his body, in the scrunched expression on his face, and I know that I have at least done something good with my day. It is silent for a while longer as we both look towards the window and watch the birds flutter about, alighting delicately on the edges of fountains and sipping from the rainwater gathered there.

"I think I'll be heading out now, sister. It's been...good seeing you." I stand as he does, nodding with that practiced smile of mine. He comes forward, reaching out and suddenly pulling me into a tight embrace which I return with the same strength, if not the same emotion. "I'll come back soon, to tell you about how things go, OK?"

"Please," I speak up, voice muffled in the padding of his tunic, breathing in the scent of home and family, knowing that if I could I would have teared up as there are small dog hairs tickling my nose from Herakles' last tackle of a greeting. Carver's chin is digging into the top of my head and I wonder when he grew taller than me, if it had been such a gradual thing or he shot up over night. "Whenever is most convenient for you, Carver. Tell mother and Bethany I said hello, though."

There is a choked noise above me, his grip tightens to an uncomfortable degree as he nods roughly, mussing up the neat bun of my hair, before he releases me. I waver a bit on my feet at the loss of his hold but Carver is already turned away, sheathing his sword, and hurriedly walking out of the room. From the sound of his breathing, he is probably holding back tears, and the noise of his footsteps disappears quickly. With steady hands, I reach up and untie my hair, noticing a figure coming up the corridor as I move to my desk to retrieve my brush.

From my periphery comes Sebastian, all soft smiles and big blue eyes, as he raises a hand to knock on the door. I nod at him to come in as I gather my hair and begin to brush it back into an orderly fashion. He waits as I do this, leaning against the threshold and staring out the window, such life and color in his eyes that I wonder what goes on behind them. Once I'm done, I find my chapeau, with it's crisp white veil, and move to put it on, but Sebastian quickly stays my hands.

"Sorry," He says, with his Starkhaven brogue and apologetic smile, "Just thought we could talk before we go about our duties; that thing goes on, and it means the day's already started."

Giving him my best facsimile of a wry smile, I drop my hands back down and simply hold the chapeau in my hands. A thought slides through my mind that it's good that Sebastian had caught me at this point in the day, as I have already put on the rest of my ensemble—robes, gloves, and boots—so he wouldn't end up embarrassing himself by finding me in my shift, but I don't voice it. "Good morning, Sebastian."

"Good morning to you too, lass, "He dimples at me, smiling widely and sitting at the same chair Carver just vacated. I sit at the chair actually meant to be used at the desk, hat dropping onto the relatively clean surface. "Another Friday, same old Carver. How'd the talk go?"

I shrug, quickly going over the encounter in my head. "Relatively well. He and my sister are contemplating getting in on an expedition into the Deep Roads some dwarves are setting up in Hightown, as guards of all things. Though, Bethany reportedly has made friends with an alchemist downtown, so she may pick up the craft and go into business at some point. Should that happen, Carver could always ask Aveline to put in a good word for him with the guards. Either one seems like a worthy venture for my siblings."

"Right you are, lass, right you are." Sebastian nods, hands on his knees, picking at his robes—they are much simpler than my own, and white where mine are black, and much less elaborate; essentially, the perfectly understated look for a brother of the Chantry.

"What about you, Sebastian? I recall you talking about how you haven't received letters from your family yet. They're running a bit late, yes?" Having gotten to know Sebastian quite well this past year, after the initial difficulties of court, one could probably call us friends. He certainly to believes so, and I don't disavow him of this notion—again, that would just be hurtful. I know all about his relationship with his family, Starkhaven's own ruling family, the Vaels, and the circumstances as to how he came to be within the Kirkwall Chantry. Like me, he also is somewhat in debt to Grand Cleric Elthina herself, though his is a much more amicable relationship—mine being something more like blackmail and immensely amounts of guilt.

Frowning, he shakes his head, "No, not a word. I don't want to worry about it, but something... something in my gut tells me there's something wrong." There is a tense, pensive moment as he glares at his knees and I try not to make the moment awkward. "I've decided that if I don't hear anything by midday, I'll head up to the Keep and petition to see the Viscount. I may be only a third son and a Chantry brother at that, but I'm still a Vael and they're my family so that should matter for something. A word, at least."

I nod, hoping that the expression I plaster on is reassuring once he looks up for it. I don't actually know much about Viscount Dumar himself, never met the man, but Aveline, being a Aveline Vallen of the city guard now, has been in relatively close proximity of him, what with the main barracks being in the Keep itself. He's supposedly a rather fair, level-headed individual, but essentially powerless in the face of Knight-Commander Meredith and her ilk—were I any different, I would have been boiling with rage at the thought of her name, but I'm not so I don't—so I don't actually hold out much hope for any real help for Sebastian. Then again I don't actually think that it's anything other than late mail or his family simply not caring enough to send anything in a timely manner - they've considered him a disgrace to their name thus far, it's a wonder they hadn't actually disowned him yet, though sequestering him within the Chantry with vows of chastity and abstinence would be the next best thing. At least he's no in the Starkhaven Chantry anymore.

My expression seems to bolster Sebastian and he nods resolutely back, a newly formed grin stretching across his, admittedly, gorgeous face—I can still recognize aesthetics, damn it—before he starts in anew. He rambles on a bit about his week so far, what with it nearing it's end, while even stopping to ask for my own experiences. While Sebastian actually deals with the people on a regular basis, though less so than actual Mothers and Sisters here or Elthina herself, I go out of my way—by both design and request—to avoid the masses. People find Tranquils to be unnerving and, in some cases, disgusting so it's in my best interest to skirt the edges of the day to day Chantric visitors. My robes themselves were merely an allowance to help me blend in, and the chapeau with added veil to conceal the "unsightly" brand upon my brow. It doesn't stop some of the more fanatical or prejudice Sisters, or even Mothers, disliking or spurning my company altogether, however, but it's not like it can actually hurt my feelings either way. It's not like I can get lonely, but that certainly doesn't seem to stop Sebastian from going out of his way to talking to me like this several times a day. I can't, honestly, tell if he sees something like kindred spirits in me—which would be bad—or if he honestly likes me—which would be worse.

Nevertheless, this goes on for several minutes, with Sebastian himself being his usual lively, if not stiflingly devout, self and supplying much of the chatter—he really is quite personable, enjoying dealing with the Chantric that do come into the cathedral and being quite skilled at it as well. Our conversation, like all things, had to end at some point,, though, and when there is a suitable stopping point. It, like all things, has to end and when there is a suitable stopping point, I do raise my hand to halt the on-coming babble. With a smile, I nod to Sebastian and fit my hat over my bun and drop the veil down, "The Sisters in the kitchen will be wroth with me if I'm any more late, Sebastian. We can take midday, though, and have our meal together. Afterward, if your letters still haven't arrived, when you return from the Keep you can help me organize the children's section of the library before day's end."

The pout that had grown from my first words soon disappears and Sebastian is beaming at me by the end to which he then bows quite formally, "Sounds like a splendid plan of action, dear Sister Hawke. We'd best be on our way then, yes?" He rises first, already sliding out the door and grasping the handle so as to close it behind us. Smiling my patented smile, I nod and head out after him, but not before closing the window and giving one last glance at the little birds on the fountain outside.

They fly away once I've closed the door, and the image of them disappearing into the sky stays with me hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, I have to know... what did you think? It was good, right? Sorry, nothing good happened and none of the other companions showed up, but I swear, it'll happen! But, look, Sebastian! He's a cute little puppy, yeah? For some reason, I imagine Starkhaven as, like, Ireland... probably his accent. I really hope no one is offended by me mixing up accents here; I'm terrible at them. So, yes, leave me a review/comment, telling me what you thought - or if you caught any issues or typos or just if you have a question - and follow me to hear the rest. I honestly think this might come out quicker than my other fics - Maker knows those are coming along glacially slow - but I am getting a new job this week, so, it might not.  
> And, if you're feeling a bit generous, head on over to my [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/DragonCreating) and donate!


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's me posting the new chapter! I really hope you enjoy this one - I had quite the adventure writing it. Look at me, writing so quickly. So proud of myself.

With fluttering wings and birds flying free in my mind, I go about my day—first, assisting with the clean up from breakfast, then heading to the back rooms of the library, in the archives, to assist there. There typically isn't much assistance I can provide there, not with Elder Stammits preferring me in quietly sorting and organizing the records—births, deaths, marriages, office appointments, historical occurrences, and the like—instead of "bothering" the other clerics or anyone coming in to do research. It's not like I could care or be bothered by being sequestered in the back corner, surrounded by the smell of books, ink, and dust. It's a pleasant smell. But the old me would have been, probably would have snarked off and done my level best to be as disruptive as I could. They don't even let me touch the books involved with arcane knowledge, and won't even explain why...

Still, I spent several hours doing this, lost in the abyss of the written word and the parchment that held them. Though the archives aren't thrown our of organization every day, it happens often enough by shoddy filing, impatience, or ignorance that someone, namely myself, is required to sift through them and make sure everything is in order at least once a month. Or at least that's how it's been done since I joined the Chantry. Maker knows it was quite the mess when I first started, jumbled and in such a disarray that it took weeks to get it all sorted. I even very nearly harmed myself through exhaustion and starvation in those days, when my sense of concentration and single-mindedness for a task was so very...new.

These days, I recognize the signs early enough and stop myself just on the edge of stomach pains and light-headedness. Speaking of, I glance up and around, noticing the notable lack—or lessening, I suppose, as there are one or two sisters milling about in the stacks—of others. My candles have burned down quite a lot and were I any different I probably would have been annoyed that I wasn't roused from my stupor to head to the midday meal, as is where I assume my fellows had disappeared to. As it is, I merely pack and tidy up my space—much of it had been gone through in such a tidy manner that it doesn't take long at all—before heading to the dining hall.

The so-called dining hall, a large, long room with dark circular tables and comfortable chairs, isn't always used as such—more like three times a day—while any other time it's a meeting place, a break room, and, supposedly in times of war, a healing room. It is to this room that I go, through mostly silent and somewhat empty hallways, and find Sebastian already at a table that has become customarily ours, frowning down at his plate of food—vegetable medley soup, buttered dinner rolls, a dollop of mashed potatoes, and what appears to be a tankard of water.

"No word, then." I say as I come up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, a gesture I knew he would find comforting. As it is, he slumps visibly at my words, shaking his head, but does not try to shrug off my hand. I count it as a win and move to sit in the chair that has become mine this past year, setting my chapeau on the table. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, but thank you, Aisling." I nudge his plate at him, knowing he has to be hungry—dealing with people all day and with a problem on his mind had to have worked out some amount of an appetite—to which he sighs, smiling wryly and picks up his spoon. Nodding at him, I get up and head to the line, where the sisters and brothers in charge of dishing out my food can't seem to get me out of the line fast enough. You would think they would be used to me by now but, as it is, I quickly get a rather sloppily made plate almost identical to Sebastian's and a lukewarm mug of water before heading back to him.

Before I sit down yet again I notice that he has managed to polish off most of his meal already and seems to have regained some of his vim and vigor, openly smiling up at me as I settle down. The minutes that pass after are relatively silent, save for the noise of the dull murmur in the room, as I've found that my task-oriented focus also happens to kick in while eating and Sebastian, somehow, finds it hilarious enough to just watch in abject, if silent, hilarity. When I come back up for air, my last piece of roll stuffed in one cheek like a squirrel, the man in question has finished his own meal off and begins to stack our dishes together neatly.

"I'll be heading off to the Keep after this, try to get some news, so I probably won't see you for a few hours. Maybe not even until tomorrow." He smiles apologetically as he stacks our bowls onto the plates, aligning the spoons on the edges, and a thought occurs to me.

"Do you want me to come with you?" The question catches him, and myself, off guard so there is a long moment where Sebastian can't seem to find the words as he stares at me, almost half out of his seat.

"I—Do—Would you mind? Sorry, that actually sounds like a fantastic idea." He chuckles, with a much wider smile than before, and I shake my head.

"I wouldn't have asked if I thought it would be a problem, Sebastian. Elder Stammits put me to work with the records today, but they're so rarely out of order that missing a few hours won't set me too terribly much. It would take to next to the Chantry going up in flames to set me that far back." Sebastian lets out a barking laugh, a look of shock on his face at both himself and my words.

"Maker's breath, Ace, don't joke about something like that!" I crack a perfectly executed smirk and he walks away shaking his head, but his shoulders shake just a little. Idly, I come to the conclusion that, that had been the most like old me I had been in a long time. I used to make a lot of jokes, both good and bad, and throw out wit and charm like it was confetti. Mother used to say that my smile could light up rooms, that my laugh could brighten days. In the same tone and line of thought, I thought that was another thing Meredith took from the world then.

It doesn't take long for Sebastian to come back nor for him to convince Elder Stammits to allow him to drag me to the Keep with him—something about Sebastian can hardly let people say no to him, it was baffling—and so we were off. Chapeau on, veil down, and Sebastian walking steadily by my side, we could have been just any other pair of Chantric priests out to see the masses—my faded Chasind tattoos peaking out underneath my veil against my pale skin aside—and so most clear a path nearly unconsciously, some bowing a head or smiling in greeting as they go about their business. As this was Hightown, for the nobility and higher class merchants, I considered that a win for humanity.

Getting into the Keep, the number of steps up to the doors aside, was quite easy—many people, both noble and common, come around daily to petition the Viscount, though it's not actually all that likely that all or many of their grievances would be heard. Walking through the number of people milling about, some mumbling to themselves inaudible words while others paced themselves silly, I assumed that Sebastian, considering he was still technically in line for the Starkhaven throne, would try to use the threat of diplomatic relations with said royals to get a word sooner than the rest—diplomatic incidents, even theoretical ones, were nothing to snub one's nose at, that's for sure. It wasn't that bad of a plan if it was executed correctly.

Sebastian went through the official channels with me by his side, a silent supporter, in bringing his petition for an audience to the Viscount's attention, or at least Seneschal Bran Cavin's but there is still the waiting. Maker, the waiting. I may not be able to become bored or annoyed at the waiting itself, but standing about is killer on the feet and Sebastian's pacing does no good either. There was also the snag Ser Vael not possessing a physical, written petition for the eyes of Dumar, so it would be that much more delayed. I for one noticed the pompous air coming off of Bran a mile away so could logically assume that he could deliberately delay the process for whatever reason he so chose. Everyone else, though, had been perfectly polite, even demure.

Again, the waiting was dreadful, and I passed the time counting Sebastian's laps passed the table I'd commandeered. There was honestly no point in attempting to stop him from the pacing, so I did not. It was but a few hours into the waiting, with short scant breaks taken by Sebastian, that a person I once could have called a friend decided to drop by and visit. The seat I had taken was at table near the wall opposite the guard's barracks, my feet were throbbing dully, and found myself jumping when a hand, sheathed in a heavy gauntlet, clapped onto my shoulder. Sebastian even stopped his pacing momentarily, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, as if he meant to defend me from the guard accosting me.

Looking up, I stared into the softly smiling, be-freckled face of the one and only Aveline Vallen, city guardswoman, and returned the smile seamlessly.

"Hello, Hawke," Aveline said, her strong Fereldan accent bringing up memories of my home in Lothering, and moved to take a seat opposite me at the small table, standard issue, orange guardsman plate armor clanking as she shifted. The chair creaked, just slightly, in protest but it was really its own fault for being where it was. "I almost didn't recognize you, but I know those tattoos anywhere."

"Aveline," I intone pleasantly, folding my hands on my lap, and smiling invitingly at her. "How have you been?" While Carver had ever been my only visitor, beyond the first and last visits from herself, Bethany and Mother a year ago, Aveline was near the only one who wrote to me. They were quite short and simple letters, more like reports from one soldier to another, but I could only assume that was near almost the only way Aveline knew how to send them, or how to cope with my predicament.

While her late husband had been a templar, I doubt Ser Wesley ever did anything like was done to me to someone Aveline knew or even liked. If her tearful, graceless and heartfelt visit so many months ago were any evidence, she had liked me well enough at the time. Now, what with months of "reports" on the goings on in her life, as well as those dedicated to my family, I could safely say she still liked me.

"I've been well, Hawke. Keeping an eye on things, as you know. After what we all went through to get here," Her voice cracks, choking on her next words, and I reach across the table to grasp her armored fingers. Awkwardness, sympathy, and other emotions that would normally be evoked by such an exchange escape me, but I knew that Aveline would appreciate comfort in some form. She stopped, squeezed my hand back before starting again, "Well, you're no children, nor is in anyone in your family, but I take care of my friends. The places they have me patrolling, I've got the time."

She frowns at that, a disgusted lilt to her voice—perhaps disenchanted with guard duty? I tilt my head, feigning curiosity, "Still having trouble? I thought you were past all that ages ago."

Aveline sighs, releasing my hand and dragging her own across her face, "Lately, I don't know. I've been pushed out to some dead patrols. Maybe I stepped on someone's toes."

"You can be...forceful," I hedge, slowly, noticing out of the corner of my eye that someone comes up to Sebastian, who had resumed his pacing at a much more sedated pace—keeping an eye on us no doubt— and leads him away. I wave at him when he looks my way, and he goes quietly.

"My charm, right?" She chuckles, glancing at where my attention had been momentarily directed, before looking back with a sour expression. "I should be able to go where I'm needed... Ugh, sorry for dropping this on you but Maker knows I could use more satisfying work."

Rapid fire thoughts zing by, pinging all sorts of reactions, but I settle on one, "While I can't promise anything exciting on my end—the Chantry's probably duller than your current patrols—I can suggest that you get in touch with Carver and Bethany, personally. As you probably well know their contract is up and are probably trolling the city for jobs right now."

Leaning back, she laughs softly and nods, "I'm grateful for the hint, Hawke. It would be a good opportunity, if anything, to warn them about Bartrand—he's a son of a bitch."

I slap on a smirk and shake my head, "Seems like Kirkwall suits you, Aveline." I look up again, dropping the smirk for a placid smile, shifting in my seat as my backside starts to grow numb. One would think that it would grow used to this considering all the hours I spend on it in the library.

A rueful smile graces her face and she looks up, nodding at a passing guard, "My letters were sparse with detail, so I suppose it's only natural we would talk about things face to face..."

"I apologize if I'm making you uncomfortable, Aveline."

"No, no, it's alright. I consider you a friend so...it shouldn't be that difficult. To answer your question, it has been a challenge, I'll admit. Lots of opportunities...if you're the type the locals want."

"Are you?"

"If you argue enough, you kind of convince yourself." She glances down, appearing self-deprecating, before straightening back up again.

"What about...It's been a year settling in. Are you..all right?" I couldn't actually drag up the want to know these things but it certainly seemed like the thing that a friend would ask. Perhaps not in a public place but I couldn't dredge up the embarrassment or guilt of asking either.

Aveline glances over sharply, a somewhat harder expression on her face than before. I blink in the face of it, though I suppose it would be hard to see my eyes through the veil, it just would be even more awkward to have it off. "You don't need to coddle me. I am where I am… How close I hold my memories is my own business. Let's just leave it at that, for now."

"Of course, Aveline," I say after a moment of silence. I hadn't meant to cause her pain but knew it was a possibility. A calculated risk, one that fell through."I thought I needed to ask, though. It was my mistake."

There is a great, heaving sigh that comes from her and she shakes her head, "You're right, Hawke, it was good of you to ask. It's what a friend would have done. It's just not the right sort of time for that, not yet." With that, Aveline stands up with another clatter of plate and smiles softly at me. "It was good to see you, Hawke. I needed a friendly face today. I'll make sure to get in touch with Carver when I can. Offer him my help when I'm off duty and maybe he can help me out with some of my own problems."

Before she can go, I lift a hand and smile, "Call me Ace, Aveline. It's what I had my friends call me...before. I think it would be fitting for you to do so now, after all we've been through."

Frozen, looking decidedly stunned, Aveline nods sharply before a deep breath rattles through her, "Of course, Haw-Ace. Of course. I'll...be seeing you around."

"Maker watch over you, Aveline." I wave lazily to which she nods stiffly and departs at a brisk walk, clanking away back to the barracks. Watching her go, I catch Sebastian coming down the steps from Bran's office, white as a sheet and a stricken look on his face. He seemed to be moving without thought, even going so far as to pass right by me and out the Keep's doors, and I scrambled to catch up.

Unsure as to broach the subject of what exactly was discussed with the Seneschal, once I was walking by the man, his eyes glassy and unseeing, I stayed silent and lingered as silent support. Obviously, not all was well in Starkhaven but how much was rotten was Sebastian's tale to tell.

For a time, I imagined the lay brother to stay catatonic for as far as the Chantry doors, but he barely made it to the steps before collapsing against the chanter's board outside, gasping raggedly for breath. Moving quickly, I steadied him on the steps, guiding his head between his knees, and ordered him to breath in an even tone. Distantly, my eyes dedicated to Sebastian's heaving, shaking form, I remembered a similar situation but a year ago—the first time Bethany had laid eyes up on me. It had been much more jarring at the time, as my sister hadn't allowed me to lay a hand on her or even come within reaching distance. It had taken several of the Chantric who were to become my new sisters to get her under control, if not exactly calm. My mother had remained in the doorway until Elthina had lead her to a seat. It had been a decidedly hectic day. They never came back.

Moving closer, slowly so as not to spook him, I spoke in soft tones to Sebastian, recalling the way the Sisters had spoken to Bethany. Mostly I spoke his name and asked him to focus on the sound of my voice, to take his time, catch his breath, and other such things to that effect. I would have even fanned him, had I thought I would help.

Minutes passed like this before I deemed Sebastian calm enough to get out of the heat beating down on us—particularly me, as my hair was cooking in my chapeau—and out of the public eye. Had anyone been watching, it probably would have seemed like a patron of the Chantry being comforted by one of Her own. A bit odd, but not enough to write home about. The explosion of emotion I saw in the near future was another thing entirely.

Gently leading him to his feet, on which he wobbled unsteadily, I urged him to lean on me if he needed to. Were I able to I would have immediately regretted the offer as it seemed to flip a switch in the man and he slumped against me, barely lifting his feet to walk up the steps. I wheezed but continued on anyway. I did offer my services, so I would say nothing about the consequences—merely plan ahead for some time to be set aside for a fitness routine once more. A year without and I couldn't carry a grown man, so I was obviously slacking.

Mere minutes later, we were inside and I have pushed Sebastian into a blocked off storage room. He slumps on top of a dusty desk, knocking over a few dusty stacks of tomes and destabilizing another, making me wonder why they were here in the first place and not in the library. Shrugging the thought off, I reach out a hand to grasp his own, to offer some amount of comfort, and he latches on to it like a lifeline. Great, ugly, shuddering sobs wrack his frame as he curls around my captive hand, leaving me to do nothing but fall to my knees beside him and allow him his time.

"They're gone," He whimpers, voice distorted and wavering but I caught it just the same. My mind flashes to my own family, what I would feel could I do so, and I understand. Estranged as they may have been, Sebastian had loved his family—still does, by the sound of it. And now they are gone forever.

"All of them! Butchered in their beds." That last bit is snarled quite viciously; would I could feel surprise. "Even little Mhairi...little...Maker, my niece. Corbinian's aingael baeg. Maker, bhí sí ach cailín." Through the babble of his native tongue, I remember him talking about his brother Corbinian, the heir apparent, and his wife, Naessa. Their daughter, Mhairi, had supposedly been the sweetest little angel anyone could wish for. Gregarious, witty, and quite the little charmer, Sebastian had mentioned once or twice that many believed she would be quite the heartbreaker when she grew older. He had always said that she already had the beautiful blue eyes that Vael's always seemed to inherit, and now he lamented that they would never once open again.

For many minutes, Sebastian wept and sobbed broken sentences in his Starkhaven brogue, and eventually seemed to tire out, though there were still sniffles. Throughout those long moments, he never once let go of my hand—not even when he slipped from the desk into a heap, sending up clouds of dust and almost dragged me down with him. At that point, coughing against the taste and grit of the dust, I made a mental note to alert someone to the state of this room—it was highly unusual.

Now sitting on the floor with Sebastian, essentially having lost the right to my own hand, I idly brush dirt from our clothes while he hacked up his lungs. Many more moments of that and I would be forced to relocate us, his propriety be damned, but it was all for naught as I felt the pressure increase around my fingers. Looking up through the fringe of my hair, my hat having slumped to the floor in deference to Sebastian's state, I caught those same Vael-blue eyes, blazing in the dim light.

"I'll kill them, Ace. All of them. I'll have them dead." Sebastian's voice was hoarse but harder than I've ever heard it. Any other time, it would have sent shivers into all the right places. As it was, it did twinge something deep inside—buried miles down, bound and gagged—and my heart began to race.

"Who?" I ask softly, tilting my head. He hadn't mentioned knowing those responsible, but I could forgive that. It had been a trying day.

"Flint Company," He hisses, something dark and bloodthirsty resonating within him. It showed in the darkening of his eyes, the blackness of his expression, the hunching of his shoulders. The bones of my fingers were being squished quite painfully now, but I ignored it in favor of leaning close and looking deep into his eyes.

Maintaining this contact, I nod slowly and say, "Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, again... What did you think? I am up for any and all comments, especially those with tips or constructive criticism, but even if you just see a typo or have an issue, tell me in a review! Hell, if you have any questions, I'd like to hear them too!
> 
> I gave the Starkhaven people the Irish language, and really hope I didn't manage to butcher it through Google Translate. If you know the correct translations, please do tell me! Before this moment, I didn't actually see myself using very many different languages but now I imagine this might happen more often than not... What with most of the companions being from different nationalities and such. (From this moment, I'm counting Arcanum, Elvish, Anderfelish (?), Starkhavenese, Nevarran, and Rivain so...six languages, if we avoid Orlisian?)
> 
> Translation(s):
> 
> aingael baeg: little angel
> 
> bhí sí ach cailín: she was just a girl
> 
> Note: The names for Sebastian's brother, sister-in-law, and niece were taken (borrowed, really) from a Dragon Age II roleplaying group's wiki, da2risingtide, and I liked them enough to kidnap them. I take no credit for them, not one bit! I super hope they don't mind me borrowing them! It was for just a few sentences!  
> And, if you're feeling a bit generous, head on over to my [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/DragonCreating) and donate!


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone! Well, it wasn't that long of a wait, so I am actually proud to present the third chapter of Champion of Nothing! I hope you, whoever you are, are enjoying it so far!
> 
> Note: I want to say something here, about this story and my personal take on Tranquility as, well, a thing. I researched it as best as I could while thinking and planning this fic out, but there's really only so much you can look for and not come across a lot of conjecture and hearsay, or coming up with your own opinion. The canon stuff is rather limited, is what I'm saying, and I will, probably, be going out of the box here and writing a Tranquil as I see fit, not as it was probably meant to be written. (I refuse to go into my already well-oiled rant about the logistics and ridiculousness of the Rite itself, so, yeah.) If it doesn't seem to be your cup of tea, you are free to leave—you can even leave me a comment explaining as to why you're doing so. I won't dare promise to conform my story to your whims, but I am curious to know the reason regardless.
> 
> That being said, if you have any concerns as to the well-being of this fic that pertains to my usage of the Tranquility as a tool—continuity, authenticity, what have you—I will take it under advisement. It goes for anything, really, that you find wrong or confusing about this fic. Again, no promises on affecting the general writing of this fic, but I won't turn down your comments.

Would that I could, I probably should have regretted encouraging Sebastian on his bid for revenge. Sitting in that dusty, forgotten room, I saw a change growing behind his eyes, a dark fire spurred on by my words, and I knew it would try to consume the simple, placid lay brother that I had come to know...or forge him anew. It probably didn't make me a very good friend that I didn't care about how broken this transition might leave him, but that's what you get for making someone unable to feel.

A small, dark voice in the back of my mind whispered maliciously that it's what I would have wished for myself, after the Rite. Had I had the power I once commanded or the simple ability to want to, I would have razed Kirkwall to the ground in my own personal vengeance, but I did not so why not him? Why couldn't I urge him to do what I would have, given the chance? He admitted to it, even, so why would I go out of my way to dissuade him from his path? The Chantry and the life he would have here would offer him no solace, not now; staying as he was would merely embitter him over the what-if's or, worse, lead him to stagnation.

That said, I did not tell Sebastian's my thoughts just yet, instead choosing to follow his lead when he left the storeroom in a visible state of disarray, sending those gossip-mongering Sisters who had loitered nearby into a tizzy that turned into a dull roar when I was seen coming after him. I hung back, watching him from a small distance, and came to the conclusion that Sebastian might actually have gone mad in those few minutes—he stalked down corridors like a man possessed, barged into rooms, both occupied and not, and vacated them just as quickly only to do it all over again. I raised an eyebrow when he actually trespassed in the quarters of a Revered Mother, who happened to be taking a nap and let out a shriek of surprise, and I decided to intervene to defuse the situation.

That done, I quickly captured his attention with a sharp strike to his arm and, in his surprise, frog-marched him to his own quarters, well removed from the flustered Mother and the twittering Sisters who lingered around corners. Of course, he resisted but I correctly surmised that he wouldn't actually fight me off, most likely out of a sense of propriety. His strange affection for me might have also been a factor. Shoving him into his room, an almost exact replica of my own, I turned to him and frowned forcefully.

"What are you doing, Sebastian?"

He sputtered, agitatedly mussing his hair with a hand, "I-I was trying to find Grand Cleric Elthina, I need to talk to her!"

OK, so not mad; he was just confused. "Then you should have tried her own quarters, or up the dais in the Cathedral; thrusting yourself into every room in between was unnecessary, not to mention rude. I think you nearly gave Mother Chanel a heart attack back there."

Sebastian flushed, a somewhat salmon pink shade, and ducked his head, "I'm sorry—I'll have to apologize to her—but I just...I needed to see the Grand Cleric, immediately. It seemed like the only thing that was important."

Before, I would have made a joke about the lack of propriety in the whole situation but there wasn't much temptation now. "What did you need to say to Elthina so badly? I thought you were going to go, and I paraphrase, "Have all of Flint Company dead?" Have you lost your resolve?"

The pink turned to red, less fish more crab, and Sebastian growled as he clenched his jaw, "I will, I swear it, but I cannot do it as I am now. I have to leave the Chantry, forsake my vows!"

"Why would you need to do that?" I took my chapeau off, setting the hat on his desk, and sat on the edge. Temptation to make a joke about what other vows Sebastian—and myself, now that I think about it—made broiled up like sleepy waves, but I pushed them back down.

"Because the Chantry cannot condone wholesale murder, Ace!"

"Sure they can—what do you think the Exalted March on the Dales was, a picnic?" OK, so maybe the temptation to make a stab at the hypocrisy of The Chantry wasn't as easy to resist, but no one could blame me for it.

"Aisling!" Though, Sebastian could apparently be upset with me for voicing such thoughts. He gaped at me for a split second before turning away, shoulders tense.

"What? It's basically the same thing."

"It's really not."

"Why?"

"Because...because the March on the Dales was a righteous cause, only called in reaction to the sacking of Val Royeaux. This—"

"Is what, less righteous because the Chantry hasn't deemed it so? You are reacting to the murder of your family, your loved ones. Whether you believe the Maker supports it or not is for you to decide, not some old woman in Orlais to decide for you." I slid from the desk and came to stand beside him, as he had seemed to be staring resolutely out the window, glowering down at the buildings of Hightown, cast in both deep shadow and burning light by the late evening sun. "Either way, it is your right and your duty to bring those who killed them to justice."

Feeling him slump beside me, I looked up and met his gaze. His words were whispers, "Is it justice?"

I smile softly, "How would I know?" I lay a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it, turning back to the room. "Again, it's for you to decide but I would do so before you meet with Elthina."

He nodded slowly and turned back to the window, a frown on his face, while I released his shoulder and moved to the door, retrieving my chapeau as I walk by. Stopping halfway across the threshold, I speak over my shoulder to him, "Gird yourself in your convictions, Sebastian. Should you decide it is, she won't support you in it."

There is a beat of silence and I almost closed the door behind me, thinking the conversation done, before his voice softly calls to me, "But you would?"

Smiling in a facsimile of bitterness, memories of being bound to the floor of a room lit by dimly flickering candles and surrounded by armored figures, I say, "Of course," and closed the door. Staring down at my hand, I release the doorknob and bleakly marvel over the fact that it was still and dry. Were I all right, and things as they should be, it would be shaking, my palms sweating. As it was, I make a gentle fist and put my hat on with my other hand before departing to my own quarters.

The day was almost done, I had missed dinner and my stomach felt like a gnawing pit, but I did not think the company of others would be the best thing for my mental health. Once in my room, I bolted the door—a function that was supposed to be used only in emergencies—and began to disrobe. Normally, I would be as neat and tidy as I could be—it made more sense to be orderly about things, made things easier and more efficient—but at this moment I found the thought of sliding beneath my covers and hiding from the world as quickly as possible a much more welcome thought.

In mere moments, most of my clothes slump unceremoniously to the floor, leaving me in just a simple linen chemise, before my chapeau meets the same fate and is tossed, with a careless flick of the wrist, onto my desk. I kicked off my boots from the edge of the bed before ducking beneath the simple linen sheets and covers to burrow my toes into the bedding but moments before the rest of my body followed. Utilitarianism was par for the course in the Kirkwall Chantry, the ostentatious decorations for the view of the masses notwithstanding, so it stood to reason that the beds would be hard, the pillows limp, and the bedding just enough to keep out the worst of the cold. It was nothing compared to a Fereldan winter's storm, nor sleeping countless nights as a young girl in a ditch or a rocky campsite in an effort to avoid Templar patrols, so it was more than acceptable. That same girl would have only dreamed of having a bed like this one, being surrounded by such solid, sturdy walls.

Nowadays, I couldn't dream at all.

When I woke, from several undisturbed hours of unconsciousness, huddled beneath my blankets, I spent some time staring blankly at the ceiling, the gray stone turned a muddled blue by the light of the early morning sun. There once was a time that I couldn't lay my head down to sleep, to dream, without waking at some point from some odd dream or night terror—demons, and the Fade, my father used to say to the latter; he used to be so proud that I could resist them so well. Would that he could see me now, I shouldn't think he would be as happy.

I had been taught, at a much later time, to resist those temptations even further, to dream undisturbed for many nights on the power of my own will. It had also been the same time as when I learned of the many nuances to my abilities, my gifts, and earned my tattoos. Would that she could see me now… her disappointment would probably hurt more if I had the capacity to feel that punch in the gut. Sitting up, my hair lost its fight with the ribbon that kept it at bay and cascaded down my back, the weight of it fell to settle down at my lower spine. That, too, used to be much different but it is a great deal easier to cut hair than to reverse the Rite of Tranquility.

If it can even be undone.

On silent feet, I slid out of bed and gathered my clothes. The floor had not been dirty in any way, yet I spent some few moments patting and dusting them off regardless before putting them on. The under-dress, a pale cream, floor-length thing with no sleeves to call its own, slid on first, over my sleep-rumpled chemise. Over that went the first layer of robes, a dark red frock with a high collar and a stylized sunburst of gold over the chest and near the hem. Next, I tied myself into a black, boned girdle that covered most of my lower torso and even fit over my hips at a point. The last layer, a thick, black, long-sleeved robe with a deep cowl and large shoulders, came on like a set of plate armor, uncomfortable and yet it protected me.

The last pieces merely rounded out the look, my disguise as a devout, chaste follower of the Orlesian Chantric faith. A large sash of pale gold and a smaller crimson sash tied and tucked in around my waist, my gloves of the same shade of black as the outer robe, and my charcoal gray boots. The true final piece lay forlorn and forgotten on the desk, turned on its side and its veil almost hanging loose; my chapeau, black and white in color, is a tall bit of Orlesian frippery with three peaks and molded sunbursts stuck to the face, the veil a length of white silk long enough to reach but not obscure my mouth. It took merely a few moments to tame my hair, the massive mane of inky black tresses, into a suitable braided tale and wound into a bun that could be fit beneath the mask of my costume. With it, I could move almost anywhere in the city, were I to choose, without many suspicious glances—a Sister in Darktown would still be a strange sight, even if she looked the part.

It was now the first day of the week, a day the majority of those who worshiped the Maker would forsake hard labor and turn to their prayers and exhalations of Him and His wife. It was also the single day of the week that I am required to join every other Sister and Brother of the Chantry in the cathedral proper, to stand with them during the proceedings and sing the Chant of Light. Of course, we couldn't finish the entire thing in one day and, by my agreement with Elthina, I was only made to do this for appearance's sake so I could just as easily mouth the words rather than sing them. At least I wasn't of the Chanters' faction; speaking nothing but the Chant would be terribly inconvenient. Elthina was lucky that I even agreed to learn the few Canticles I have, though she would probably say that I should be grateful that Kirkwall seems to stay close to certain subject matters—Andraste, Threnodies, and Transfigurations being the most commonly sung, but I admit to having gone so far as to learn the Dissonant Verses of Shartan and Silence to simply be as contrary as possible.

It was with this on my mind that I left, heading to the dining hall, hesitating only a moment when I wasn't immediately greeted by Sebastian upon opening my door before continuing on my way. Thoughts on the Chant derailed, I pondered for a moment on what could have possibly kept the man from our daily morning routine before it became quite obvious. As a being of much feeling and worries, it wouldn't be much of a leap to say that Sebastian begged off the company of the rest of the church in favor of mourning his family. That and possibly plotting the undoing of those who killed them.

Worldview reaffirmed, I continued along my way, passing Sisters, who tittered quietly amongst themselves, and Brothers, who gave me oddly appraising looks, as I went. My brisk pace was rewarded when I reached my destination in a few short minutes and was able to acquire my morning meal without fuss. While also dedicating our day—whether by choice or otherwise—to the Chant on such days, Sundays are also marked by eating simply; plain beef broth and a hunk of bread for each meal and limitless amounts of water to keep up the humors. It was supposed to be cleansing and reminding of one's humility in choosing to serve the Maker, but served to merely remind me constantly of my hunger and days in Ferelden where I spent many such days with the same feeling.

It was while I sipped at my broth, tearing off pieces of my side of bread and tucking them into the side of my cheeks, that someone joined me at my table. Looking up, I was both surprised and not that it was Sister Petrice who deigned to grace me with her presence. While she usually looked at me as if I were a fly she found in her soup or a bit of dirt on her shoe, Petrice probably couldn't help herself and make a comment about the commotion from yesterday. With such a skewed sense of propriety and superiority, it was a wonder she hadn't broken into my room as I slept and berated me in her own special way.

"Sister," I nodded in her direction, taking another sip from my bowl. As expected, her face became pinched and drawn with a look of revulsion and pique. She really was too easy to offend.

"Tranquil," She bit back, before taking a breath to, I assume, gather herself once more. "You are to cease your uncouth actions this instant."

"Of course, Sister," Another twitch and I half expected her to start growling at me, what with the scowl she was suppressing. "To which of my actions are you referring?"

"Your attempts at seducing those devout to the Maker away from His Grace. It is known that you have been dallying with Brother Vael, not just yesterday, and it must stop. You may not be able to fully understand your actions or the commitment to the vows Brother Vael is compromising in continuing your relationship, but it stops now." Through her words, I listened silently and, without an obvious reaction, it seemed to incense the harridan even further. At least she wasn't actually making a scene, speaking in low hushed tones that did not carry. It would only be embarrassing for her were she to be overheard and then I would never get any peace.

"Why Grand Cleric Elthina allowed you into this sacred place of worship, to allow you to sully it with your mere presence, I will never know or understand, but it is not my place to question it." And yet, you continue to do so. "Instead, I will do my level best to make sure that you do not taint the soul of one such as Brother Vael with your filth, not like you have tainted your own with the sin of your magic. Why you haven't repented and gone on with your life after the Knight Commander did her duty in taking it away from you, in an effort to save your soul, I also do not claim to know, but you will allow Sebastian to seek the Maker's Light unimpeded by your presence. Do I make myself clear, Tranquil?"

"Of course, Sister," Taking a moment to drain the last of my broth and watch her expression morph between thunderous hate and self-righteous indignation, I vacated my seat and left the room at a steady pace. Would that I could, I would have been almost disappointed that Petrice didn't follow me out of the room and continue to harangue me. Me, dallying with Sebastian? He would only be so lucky. As it is I only see him in the same capacity as I do Carver, though I appreciate his looks as well I can. As for sullying the Chantry with my presence, my presence could only be an improvement, as much as I used to loathe the institution in general. Let people become riled and angry, let them ask questions. What would their faith be, what would it be worth, if it wasn't tested by anything, let alone my being here?

Shaking those thoughts from my mind, I made my way to the cathedral proper, the place already filling with bodies, both Chantry priests and the devout followers alike. Sisters and Brothers already sang the Chant of Transfigurations, most being Chanters themselves, striding purposefully among the masses, heads raised high and faces turned to the gargantuan golden statue of the Maker that oversaw the entire Chantry. Looking up to it as I joined in on the song, I turned the rest of my attention on observing the proceedings.

Typically, the Chant would be lead by Grand Cleric Elthina, yet she seemed to be mysteriously absent from her position at the feet of the Maker's statue. The honor seemed to have been taken up by Revered Mother Chanel, who had an admittedly pleasant alto singing voice but it could not hide the subtle feeling of unease. I also noted that Sebastian himself seemed to still be missing, the addition of his own voice to the ringing sound of harmonization being quite noticeable for those who heard it every week and quickly estimated the likelihood that both absences were linked. High, yes, but it was a coincidence, surely.

Hearing a commotion near the entrance to the cathedral, I dropped my own voice from the choir and made my way over with a sinking stomach. It took but a few moments for me to reach the doors, my attire allowing me to quickly cut through the common folk that lingered in the back. A minute or two of making my way down the steps, catching snippets of conversation, my mind zeroing in on mentions of a man in shining armor arguing with the Grand Cleric, and I saw them.

Sebastian, indeed clad in armor that shimmered and glinted white and gold in the sunlight and a longbow and quiver slung across his back, and Elthina, immaculate in her Chantry robes, before the Chanter's Board. Elthina seemed to be pleading with him and, for the first time, Sebastian didn't seem to want to listen to what she says as he affixed what appeared to be a sheet of parchment to the board amongst all the other petitions and job offers.

"Sebastian," Elthina started, voice hardening but face beseeching for his ear. "stop this madness."All she received in return was a somewhat disgusted look from him before she continued, "The Chantry cannot condone revenge, Sebastian."

When he answered her, it was that same harsh, furious tone he had in that forlorn storeroom just yesterday, "It is my right, my duty, to show these assassins there is nowhere in the Free Marches to hide." With that, he apparently thought the conversation done and walked away, in the opposite direction of the Chantry. Did he really think to take on Flint Company by himself? What did his offer on the board even say?

Elthina, though, didn't see things the same and reached up to remove the writ from the board, proclaiming, "This is murder!" An instant later and the parchment was ripped from her hand, affixed to the wall by an arrow. Sebastian, face thunderous, lowered his bow, "No! What happened to my family was murder." The look on Elthina's face would probably live with me through the ages, but the sight of Sebastian storming away, into Hightown, would more than likely sour the memory in some way.

On the other hand, the expression that Carver had as Sebastian brushed passed him without a thought might balance out the equation. Accompanied by Aveline, a unique looking dwarf with an unusual crossbow, and sans Bethany as usual, it now appeared that my brother had finally come for his visit; what a welcome he received. Raising a hand in greeting, I hoped to be prepared to weather the questions he would have.

In my periphery, I noticed Elthina sagging under an invisible weight before making her way, slowly, back up the Chantry steps. She, too, would probably want to have words with me, knowing my association with Sebastian. It wasn't a secret that he considered me a friend and most would assume he had discussed his plans with me. That I obviously hadn't dissuaded him from all of this was very telling.

I much doubted either impending encounter would be all that pleasant. C'est la vie, as the Orlesians say; such is life. Mine hasn't been very enjoyable thus far, why would it start now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. I apologize for not getting it out sooner but, then again, as many may have noticed I don't really update that quickly on my stories. Two chapters in two days is a feat, another within three would have been a miracle. As it is, please don't be discouraged if it takes longer for the other chapters! I will be writing this on my off times, but I did get that job I mentioned and the hours are weird. Bear with me!
> 
> On another note, I have a playlist that I listen to while writing this and it's somehow turned into entire albums of Maroon 5 with a smattering of other bands. I was listening to "Sugar" at that last bit. Probably not very fitting, but c'est la vie. Leave a comment, give me likes, and watch out for the next one!  
> And, if you're feeling a bit generous, head on over to my [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/DragonCreating) and donate!


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the fourth chapter! Yaaay! Sorry for the bit of a wait, had some issues with this one - along with some personal ones that you really don't wanna hear about. But, I like how it turned out so far. I am amazed, awed, and inspired by the nice reviews I've been receiving on this! Really, you guys have been great and I'm so glad to be here, writing for such a receptive audience. I honestly did not expect such a good reception of this idea but I'm pleased nonetheless. Without further adieu, or any of my previous lengthy notations, here's the fourth chapter of Champion of Nothing! Enjoy!

"What," Carver intoned as he came to stand next to me, face frowning and accusing all at once, "was that?"

I appeared as nonchalant as I could as I bypassed him to stop in front of the board. There were several more petitions and job offers, all of them seeming to cater to the already rich and powerful of Kirkwall, but the one I wanted was different. Spending a moment on removing the arrow, I cast it aside to read the notice. Sensing his presence looming over my shoulder, I turned the paper for him to see better.

"To whoever elects to participate," Carver grumbled, seeming to take my offer to read it aloud for his companions to hear. "in the charitable deed of assisting the Vael family of Starkhaven: His Highness, Prince Sebastian Vael, has provided instructions for anyone brave and noble enough to attempt eradication of the rogues who dared murder his family, the mercenary group Flint Company. Three groups of the aforementioned band have been sighted in the Kirkwall vicinity. One group makes camp not far from the elves of the Sundermount mountain range. The second has been seeking information on the Docks after nightfall. The third is far from the main road of the Wounded Coast; they are believed to have a small campsite well past any known landmarks. A princely award awaits whoever finds and defeats all of the groups. May the Maker guide you."

Chanter Taletha wrote this? When did Sebastian have the time to get this information? Did he even sleep last night? Carver interrupted my thoughts by taking the notice from my hands and bringing it over to Aveline and the dwarf, "Look like a worthy cause, Aveline?"

"If a princely award's involved," Remarked the dwarf, chuckling lightly, "it'll definitely help you in raising the money you need to get an in with Bartrand."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but the dwarf's right," Aveline sighed, hand settling on the pommel of her sword. I noticed that she also had the same shield her husband, Ser Wesley, had wielded, strapped to her back. So, that answered the question on whether or not she was over him or not. "The money you need is no small thing, and having a royal indebted to you isn't either."

"That's up for debate," I cut in, moving to stand next to Carver. Once they all have their attention on me, I start again, "Sebastian has been in the care of the Chantry since he was thirteen. He hasn't been in line for the Starkhaven throne for a long time. It's likely that any number of his more distant relatives will fight him for it and it'll be a long time before you have the Prince of Starkhaven in your pocket."

"And who might you be, pretty lady?" Looking down at the dwarf, I huff a laugh at him while Aveline appears to roll her eyes so hard that she turns away from us. Carver just groans loudly, bemoaning in low tones that he let the two of us meet.

"Aisling Hawke," I say, with a painted on smirk. "Carver is my younger brother."

"Hawke!" The dwarf gasps, making a show of being aghast. "Or, should I say, Little Hawke? You never told me you had a beautiful older sister! For shame, ser."

"You can't even see my face. How do you know I'm beautiful?"

"Trust me, sweetheart, I know beauty." The flirt winked at me, then, and I knew that we would be getting along famously. Would that things were different, we probably would have been the best of friends, if not more. "The name's Varric Tethras, at your service. Rogue, storyteller, and your brother's tag-along."

"Are you? At my service, I mean." I asked, just to be cheeky, and my brother groans once more. Aveline, apparently, was having nothing to do with us at this point and was angrily perusing the rest of the Chanter's board. Who knew that reading could be done with such furious disgust?

"If you like." Varric, as I could now call him, wiggled his eyebrows at me before putting on a rather forlorn expression. "Alas, I am a taken man. Bianca, here, holds my heart and she's quite possessive. It would never work between us, my dear."

Bianca, it seems, was his crossbow, and what a crossbow it was. Looking at it, I could see why he would be smitten with it, but I imagined it was a much more convoluted and complicated tale than a dwarf and his favorite weapon.

"Please, Maker, stop," Carver said, stopping me before I could say anything more. I feigned a pout to which he returned a rather irate glare. Nodding in understanding, realizing that he was actually hurt at the exchange, I backed off. "Now, sister, tell us: what is Sebastian up to?"

Sighing, I lead them off to the side, away from the Chantry's front steps, and began the tale, "It's essentially what the notice said: Sebastian's family, the immediate and who would inherit after his brother, Corbinian, were murdered… down to the last child. He just found out and was understandably distraught. He wants to avenge them against those who did the deed, Flint Company, but Elthina, as you saw, doesn't approve. Whether this means that he's now no longer a Chantry Brother, I cannot say; that's for the Grand Cleric to decide, but his vows have been called into question. Regardless, he's put out the call for blood and someone's going to answer eventually."

In more ways than one, I muse as Carver raises a hand to motion for silence as he appears to deliberate on the matter. Had Petrice known about this, and that is why she confronted me this morning? I didn't hold much stock in coincidences; the universe is rarely so lazy. Nevertheless, she would be causing me no end of trouble if Sebastian does end up leaving the Chantry, whether by choice or because Elthina pushes him out.

"We'll do it," Carver commands, turning his eyes to Aveline and Varric. They had been silent during my explanation, though they appeared to be itching to do something violent now. "Tell Sebastian, when you see him next, that we're on the job. It'll take some time, as we have several other concerns at the moment, but within a few days Flint Company will be wiped from Kirkwall."

Looking to his companions, who were nodding in solidarity, I smile and nod back, "He'll be glad for you help, I'm sure."

"Now," Carver chuckles, smiling softly. "I do believe we had a visit planned, but I think the Chantry's a bit shaken up as it is. Can we talk here?"

Gesturing outwardly, I make a show of looking at the complete lack of others and some stacks of crates of various sizes. "Besides the Maker's ever-glaring gaze, I think we can speak freely."

"Good. We'll be just a few minutes. Aveline, Varric if you'll excuse us?" He says as he guides me over to a crate and sits on the one beside it. It's just out of ear-shot, but still within sight.

"We'll be fine on our own, Little Hawke, don't worry about us," Varric calls over, chuckling as Aveline makes an exaggerated noise of disgust and leans against a wall.

"Don't call me that!" Carver shouts back, though he doesn't really seem all that offended. He was oddly fond of Varric, even though by my calculations he had met him just yesterday. Even through the veil, Carver gauged my thoughts with pinpoint accuracy and shrugged at me with a wry smile. "He grows on you very quickly. Like a fungus, really."

I smiled encouragingly and removed my chapeau, holding it in my hands as I smoothed out my hair, "Tethras, huh? Any relation to Bartrand?"

"Yes," He grouses, scoffing irritably at the name. Apparently, Aveline had been spot on with her description. "His younger brother, who apparently does what younger brothers do for their elder siblings."

"And what's that," I ask, with as little inflection as I was able.

"Deal with the aftermath of their blunders, it seems like." He grumbles at his knees before looking up and wincing. My flat expression must have said more than I truly wanted and he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, sister, that was unkind. I just...I could smell your influence with that ordeal with Sebastian a mile away."

I remain silent, raising an eyebrow, not wishing to implicate myself and I don't have to wait for him to throw up his hands in defeat. "I'm not wrong, I know it! Sebastian and I have met, you recall, and I had never pinned him as one to be so bloodthirsty. No, you probably said something, lead him to this course of action, but he thinks it was his choice alone."

"Was I wrong to?" I say, almost like a question, looking out into the courtyard. At his sigh, I look back with a raised eyebrow. If he was judging me, so help me..

"No, sister. You know I understand why you did it, of course I do," At that, there's a truly painful look in his face and I know where his thoughts have turned to, "but nobody likes being manipulated. If, when, he finds out, he's not going to be happy with you."

"Not at first, no," I admit with a nod, "but by that point, it'll be done and there will be no taking it back. He might even understand eventually, as you do, why I did it. Something like that, it changes a person."

"Yes," Carver says, his tone and expression strange, eyes searching my face wistfully. After a moment, he smiles, seeming to have found what he was looking for, "It certainly does. As it is, Ace, I have missed you."

"You saw me yesterday, Carver," I say flatly, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

"Yes, but I still missed you," He says, eyes shining with emotion and brimming tears. Catching his meaning, I nearly drop my chapeau into the dirt, but manage to catch it in time.

"You know where I live, Carver. Visit more often and you won't miss me as much," I smile forcefully and look over to the others. Varric seems to be saying something to Aveline that is bringing her to the edge of strangling him. "How'd you end up with those two following you around?"

"Well," He coughs, clearing his throat and looking over to watch them as well, "Aveline's situation is much easier to explain. I went to see her this morning and after the usual pleasant talk, she said she had something that needed doing—an ambush, up on Sundermount, she thinks. Said that she could use help with dealing with it and we, Bethany and I, were the only ones she trusted to get our hands dirty with it."

"And Varric," I ask, nudging his booted foot with my own. He makes another uncomfortable coughing noise and nods, continuing as if nothing had happened.

"Ah, him, yes. I went over, as I said, to speak with Bartrand about the Expedition but he wouldn't have us; said that they had enough guards and too many people asking for hand-outs and all that rot. Seemed to think that we were just like every other Fereldan in this dump, wouldn't hear anything about it and turned us away," He sighed heavily, rubbing at his face with a hand before it buried in his hair. "Bethany was upset, I was upset, I may have said something unkind about it being her Templars that we were running from, and she hasn't really spoken to me since but she'll come around, right?"

I give him the best expression of indignant incredulity I can muster, to which he responds with a very loud groan, turning away with his face in his hands, "I know, I know! I've apologized as much as I can, groveled even, but there's not much I can do save to wait for her to cool off. She's with Elegant, last I saw, bonding over elfroot and blood lotus or whatever it is that they talk about."

When he came back up for air, I had my arms crossed and giving him my best-unimpressed stare, "That was unworthy of you, Carver, but you know that, so I won't press the issue. You still haven't answered why Varric seems to be following you around since yesterday."

"I'm getting there, hold your mabari, woman—on that note, Herakles is missing you something awful. You...you should come by sometime, see him, maybe spend some time at Gamlen's. He'd like that a lot," By the almost too-innocent expression on his face, my dog wasn't the only one that might like to see me. That was more than all right because the dog couldn't make his way to the Chantry on his own and visit me, but my mother sure as the Void could—the same could be said for Bethany. They were just too afraid to, probably ashamed of our last meeting, but that wasn't my problem any longer and I did my utmost to convey that with a single look.

Wincing, Carver nodded, "As I was saying, Bethany had stormed off, but before I could follow after her some slick pickpocket nabbed my coin purse and made off with it. I'm ashamed to admit that I wouldn't have caught him, were it not for Varric—he pinned the little bugger to a wall with a bolt, got my coin back, and give him a good solid knock to the head for his troubles." There was a moment's pause where Carver actually seemed to relive the moment, with a small smirk on his face, before continuing. "After the introductions were made, I learned that Varric had a different plan for Bartrand's venture than us just being guards. Apparently, he heard some things—flattering things—about myself and Bethany, about how well we'd done in Athenril's employee, and thought we would be best as not hirelings but, get this, partners!"

"Partners," I ask, looking over to Varric, who was weathering some of Aveline's needling this time, and back to him. "He does realize that the entire reason you're joining this expedition is to get money, not that you have any to commit to it, right?"

"That's what I said, more or less," He chuckles, shaking his head. "But he said that Bartrand's been having a bloody awful time of getting the gold to fund the damn thing on his own, that he can't do it. Thing is," he pauses, frowning, "we need fifty sovereigns to buy our way in; Varric says Bartrand couldn't refuse if we had that much."

"Neither could anyone else, if you had that much gold," I scoff. "How did he convince you that this was a good idea?"

"Well, he's very convincing when he wants to be—reminds me a lot of you, before Kirkwall and all this mess," Carver coughs uncomfortably, rubbing at his neck. "He's putting out a lot of feelers, keeping an ear out for any high-end clients that will pay well. It's actually just a coincidence that we came upon Sebastian's call to arms before anyone else did."

I kept quiet about my thoughts on coincidences and nodded, "Seems like you've thought this through at least. Have you got anything else waiting in the wings just yet?"

Pursing his lips, Carver shrugs, "Varric's got some intel about a Grey Warden somewhere in Kirkwall who would have maps of the Deep Roads, Athenril's sent a letter about a contact of hers, dwarf named Anso, down in Lowtown's Bazaar after dark, there's Aveline's patrol job, now Sebastian's manhunt, and I still need to deliver a certain something up Sundermount anyhow. I'll probably be in and out of Kirkwall for most of it, so I don't think we'll be having these talks for a few days, if not weeks."

"Carver," I choked, my throat closing on the words, on my memories; memories of a different time, a different life, and the woman who became my mentor in the Korcari Wilds. "Why have you put that off for so long?"

"I've been a little busy, sister, working off a debt for an entire year. Apologies if I didn't see fit to deliver a trinket up a mountain for some mad woman as soon as we made berth," Carver sneered, prickling up like a porcupine at the imagined slight against him. "As it was, I had a lot on my plate since..."

"I know, Carver, I didn't mean anything by it," I try to be as soothing as I can, though Flemeth still haunts my thoughts. "It's just… Flemeth is dangerous, Carver. It's not good, at all, to have kept her waiting. Please, go to the Dalish at your earliest convenience. For me?"

"I'll try, sister," He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I'm heading up that way anyhow, to deal with Aveline's mess. I'll do it along the way."

"That's all I ask, brother," I nod, with a small smile. Standing, I dust off the back of my robes before settling my hat back on my head. "With all of that waiting to be done, I suppose you should get started right away."

"Oh," Carver starts, having shot to his feet as soon as I moved, and rubs the back of his head in chagrin. "You would probably be right. A lot to do, very little time to do it in. Nevertheless, it was good seeing you, sister."

"The same to you, brother. Don't get dead," I smirk, smoothly walking over to the bickering guard and rogue, who stop at my approach. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Varric."

"The pleasure was all mine, my lady," Said crossbowman simpers, giving a little bow.

"And it was good to see you again, Aveline. I'm sure you'll have all the help you need with your patrol issues."

"Well," Aveline sighs, crossing her arms across her chest, a smirk crossing her lips. "They're certainly not you, but they'll do."

As she had planned, both Carver and Varric alike began to speak up about their merits as fighters, and I simply waved at them in farewell as I walked away. Their voices carried, though, even up the steps of the Chantry, and it sounded like Varric had turned on to teasing Carver and Aveline was trying to break it up. A part of me, very dull and neglected, thought of how nice, how good, it was that Carver had found such good friends in the world. He still had Bethany, of course, no matter what little tiffs they had, but I would never have thought he could be so….mature. My baby brother had grown up, though he still clung to that last bit of childhood and visited his eldest sister several times a week; I could forgive that.

Were it not for Carver and his visits, or the stipend the Chantry provided the rest of my family, I probably would have left the city a long time ago. Not for want of being elsewhere—I wasn't capable of that—but because the logical progression of violence from the Templars and their animosity with the Mages told me so, regardless that that appellation does not technically apply to me anymore. It would only escalate as time went on with no one stopping it and while Grand Cleric Elthina could very well hold the power to step in, she refused to. She hasn't interfered with the Knight-Commander's actions in over a year, not that Meredith has actually done much in all this time—laying low, most likely. It was self-preservation, pure and simple.

It was that same instinct that slowed my steps up to the Chantry's entrance, made me ponder over the many possibilities of the impending conversation. Elthina may be a bit impotent and irrelevant in the face of the true problems in the city, but she had full control over my position within the church. If she felt I need to be gone, for whatever reason, she could very well have me excommunicated, even sent back to the Circle to work with the Formari, endlessly crafting potions and enchantments to earn money for the good of the Circle.

I would probably run if that eventuality came to pass, using the talents Asha'bellanar had cultivated me in those years to hide and survive against the odds, even without my magic. What was it she had said to me, before Gwaren, before Kirkwall and the Rite…. "Hurtled into the chaos, you fight...and the world will shake before you." No offense meant to the Witch of the Wilds, but fighting there had been, but nothing truly world-shattering; the fight was stolen from me before the world could crumble. Not that my previous self would have even wanted that.

Sliding just inside the doors, I saw that there were still quite a lot of the faithful packed inside, most praying and some speaking softly, with each other or some Sisters who were nearby for just that purpose. My attention zeroed on a familiar figure who appeared to be listening to one such parishioner but quickly pawned them off on another Sister when my arrival caught her attention. In mere moments, Sister Petrice bore down on me like an oncoming storm. Too bad for her that I was quite proficient at weathering those, among many other things.

With her perpetual displeased frown on her face, Petrice started down at me—a feat, considering I actually had several inches on her—before speaking, "Grand Cleric Elthina is waiting for you in her quarters, Tranquil; you would do well to not keep her waiting any longer."

Speaking in my best toneless voice, I bowed my head to her, "Apologies, Sister. I will go there as quickly as my feet can take me."

Looking back up, I caught her glare and sneer combo, not that she did much to hide it, "See that you do."

Knowing that staying any longer in her presence would merely send her in the most unflattering, indignant rage—I'd done it often at this point, to Sebastian's unending frustration and reluctant amusement—I did as requested. It didn't take long to get to Elthina's quarters, my feet having long remembered the journey, but still, I lingered just outside of it all the same. It wasn't so very far from my own, nor very different from the outside, but she was still the Grand Cleric and there was a certain respect demanded of her position. Would this be the time she would rather me knock first or was her open door policy still in effect, even with one such as myself?

Erring on the side of caution, I knocked and waited. In a few short moments, her voice answered me, distorted through the thick wood of the door, and called, "Come in." There was no need to take a breath to steel myself against what was to come, but I did it all the same and opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! I keep leaving you guys on cliffhangers, don't I? If it makes you feel any better, almost immediately after writing the last chapter I typically end up writing half, if not more, of the next one before I pick it up again. So, by this time tomorrow, I might actually have the next chapter finished or well on its way! (Probably the latter, considering I have work tomorrow and might be there all day.) As it is, I want to once again thank all of you who are reading this and special thanks to those special few who have left me those nice reviews. Kisses all around! As always, leave a comment/review if you so wish (please, I don't mind them) and I'll see you in the next chapter!  
> And, if you're feeling a bit generous, head on over to my [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/DragonCreating) and donate!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, my ducklings. My new job has been kicking my butt and keeping me on my toes, as has my need for a ride (anyone willing to drive me to work?) so this might end up being my new schedule; writing before I clock in, during my break, and updating every few weeks or so.
> 
> Also, if you're worried (bothered/annoyed) with how slowly this story is going, I assure you that it will pick up eventually; it's merely quite boring in the Chantry, and Ace doesn't get out much. Just stick with me, mkay? We'll get there.

Inside, Grand Cleric Elthina sits behind her own desk, though the placement is different than mine or Sebastian's. Instead of being placed against the wall closest to the door, leaving much empty space in the center, it is sat in the middle with two chairs opposite her own for visitors. I take one of these seats as I glance around at the familiar room; there are many bookcases lining the walls, more than likely full of religious texts and propaganda, with needless decorations dedicated to The Maker and His Bride, such as two pedestals with busts of said figures and a tapestry of Andraste's conflagration. I would, probably, consider it tasteless to have such a thing up, but the Chantric are strange anyway. Besides that, Elthina's own bed is pushed beneath the window, though I wonder how she ever sleeps through dawn.

"Hello, Aisling," Elthina says, looking up from the parchment she is writing on, a sad, tired smile on her face; the parchment, I notice, looks like an official document, with the Chantry's seal stamped in the corner to show authenticity. For a moment, I wonder at its nature. Is it Sebastian's excommunication papers? My own? Is it, however unlikely, something simple and innocuous, with no connection to the two of us at all?

"Good morning, Grand Cleric," I reply, removing my chapeau and laying it upon the desk, as has become customary now. In the beginning, Elthina and I had many such meetings. She would call me into her chambers, usually after breakfast, and ask about how the previous day had gone. At first, I would say very little save for the meaningless comments and empty platitudes about Elthina herself but learned very quickly that she wouldn't let me be until she saw some signs of "improvement".

After that revelation, I made sure to add additional colorful thoughts of my quarters, my meals in the dining hall, and my new Brothers and Sisters; I had long since learned that Elthina preferred we think of each and every one of us dedicated to the Faith as family, not colleagues or strangers. Little things like that which, over time, she could assume I was passed any possible trauma; impossible, but she wanted to believe it, so I gave it to her. My friendship with Sebastian had started out that way, one of my final nuggets of proof to Elthina of my progress, but I have since learned to care for him in my own way.

"Has yours been good, Aisling? I find myself having a rather upsetting morning, but thank you for the good wishes," She gives an uncharacteristically dark chuckle, which scrambles my thoughts for a split second as I recalibrate. She doesn't seem to notice my internal conflict, her quill still working its way across and down the document in front of her. For several moments, I sit in silence and the Grand Cleric finishes writing, sealing it closed with red wax and an ornate seal. From my vantage point, I should have been able to at least glean the subject matter of the document but Elthina's penmanship has always seemed unreadable to me. All of it, simply a mass of swirls and lines in a jumbled mess.

"You wished to see me, Grand Cleric?" I ask, trying to urge this conversation on without actually making it seem like I was impatient. Tranquil couldn't be impatient but that didn't stop me from knowing I would be, given the capability. I was never as tolerant with waiting as my parents would have liked, for anything really; Flemeth had said it merely reminded her of Morrigan, not that her daughter had enjoyed the comparison.

Elthina sighed once again, softly this time as she stashed the document in a drawer beneath the desk and, with a click, locked it. For a split second, I wondered the possibility of success, and the ramifications, of breaking into her quarters at a more busy time to read the blasted thing. The materials to reseal it were upon the desk itself and it would be simple to sneak inside the room as Elthina very rarely locked it; she said it encouraged us, the Brothers and Sisters of the Chantry, to come to her at any time, no matter the reason. I didn't imagine that I would actually be caught, as people here were remarkably unworried about theft or danger of any kind, but did I really care, for lack of a better word, enough to go through with the effort?

"I am in a difficult position, Aisling," Elthina starts, a small frown on her face as she laces her fingers together upon the desk. That certainly didn't sound promising, and I pushed aside my thoughts on a theoretical robbery. For now.

"Grand Cleric?" I begin, letting my voice sound a tinge confused. Elthina thought she knew as much as everyone else, if not more, about Tranquility and those it affected, so she wouldn't actually believe I was confused but it would goad her to elaborate just a little more. I was owed that much, really.

"When I took you in, defied Knight Commander Meredith, and dedicated you to the Chantry as a Sister in our family, I did so thinking I was doing the Maker's will," Oh, this definitely didn't sound good. From her tone, Elthina actually seemed quite angry, but she was concealing it so as to not, what, confuse me? Either way, she buried it beneath civility and some amount of sadness, not that either would affect me. "You had called out to me for help, personally, if not by name, a year ago, and I did what I thought was right. I did what no Grand Cleric has done in many years, if at all—I allowed, nay assisted, a mage in remaining outside of the Circle, though still under Chantry rule.

"There were, and remain, many who protest this, quite vocally and incessantly," Three guesses who, I think, "but I remained adamant in the goodness of that decision. Until this day, I thought you believed the same, in whatever capacity you could, that you knew too that it had been the Maker's will being done. It has come to my attention that you may be….involved in Brother Vael's, Sebastian's, recent calamity." Wait, what? Did she just accuse me of premeditated murder? Elthina stopped a moment to take a steadying breath, as she had actually begun to rise in volume and show that underlying anger of hers, and I wondered at my own lack of need for such a thing. My heart did not race, my breath did not quicken or catch in my chest, and my palms were as dry as they were when I walked in. I felt no fear or anxiety, despite the subject matter. I simply knew I should have been having these reactions, yet I wasn't. It wasn't the first time that I noted my lack of reaction to situations, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Have you," Elthina begins slowly, and I blink up at her, "or have you not been involved with Sebastian Vael in a sexual nature, therefore violating your vows and the promises you made to the Maker." What.

"I have not, Grand Cleric," Petrice, then. She doesn't wait long, does she? I wonder if her fixation on my alleged seduction of Sebastian says something equally naughty about her. My reply has Elthina breathing a huge sigh of relief, but she doesn't stop there.

"Have you ever encouraged a sexual relationship, even by non-action, with Sebastian Vael?" What, does she consider Sebastian as the only eligible bachelor in this place? Still, each word from her mouth seems to leave a bad taste and her face is pinched sourly at the end. I wasn't going to go out of my way to soothe this uncomfortable feeling, though. I'm incapable of empathy, right, Grand Cleric?

"No, Grand Cleric," My denial has her slumping in relief and I wonder if, at the end of this inquiry, that she should end up on the floor. I would probably have found it indescribably amusing, given the chance.

"Have you noticed Sebastian looking at you or behaving in such a way that would suggest he would be interested in a sexual relationship with you, or any Sister of the Chantry?" Not including the Brothers, Elthina? They may have something to say about that exclusion, but I won't tell. Sebastian has varied tastes, I assure you. I am sure that this question was meant to trip me up, as replying in affirmative might call into question my other answers or invalidate them entirely. It could build this entire thing into an internal inquisition that would be uncomfortable for everyone. Or, they could simply do away with me, sending me to the Circle and be done with the temptress in their midst.

"No, Grand Cleric," I say, tone even and unwavering. The single good thing about Tranquility, or the guise of it, is that no one thought a Tranquil capable of a lie, by omission or one played straight. Sebastian was a healthy young man with a history of debauchery and lewdness of many flavors. I am more than sure he has thought of such things, but it would take something much more powerful than my own feminine wiles to "seduce him from the path of righteousness".

With a new, genuine smile on her lips, Elthina nodded in satisfaction, "Thank you, Aisling. Lastly, were you in any way involved in the incident that occurred at the Chanter's Board this morning?"

"In what capacity, Grand Cleric?" I ask, and the smile disappears. Whoops. Perhaps I should have simply denied it, but Sebastian would likely be getting similar questions when, if, he returned. Though, if he only returns once Flint Company are dead, it might already be a lost cause.

"Did you encourage Sebastian Vael to take a violent course of action over the deaths of his immediate family," Elthina asks, the heaviness having returned to her voice and I imagine that were I not here, she would place her head in her hands and weep. Or groan very loudly at the mess we were in.

"No, Grand Cleric," This time, my answer does very little to soothe the put-upon look on her face.

"In what capacity, if you don't mind, would you say you were involved?"

"A minimal one, Your Grace. I was the first person to see Sebastian after he found out about the Vael family's murders," I say, as simply and straight-faced as I can; no one would be able to beat me in Wicked Grace, that's for sure. "He sought comfort from me and I obliged, though it was not sexual in nature. I surmised, correctly, that he was upset but did not come to the conclusion that he would do something dangerous, to himself or others." Somewhat a lie, as I only assumed he wouldn't do anything so soon.

"Why did you not alert me of Sebastian's tenuous emotional state," She demands, voice finally rising above what would be considered polite. She does not seem altogether angry, simply upset and frustrated. It was a good question and if were I anyone else I would probably be held partially accountable for whatever Sebastian might do—or allowed others to do in his stead.

"Sebastian did not seem unstable when I left him, so I thought the matter dealt with," More of a lie than before, but what saved my bacon now could potentially save Sebastian's down the line. That is if Sebastian tried to repent for whatever he might do, which was extremely likely. He was very devout, but who knows what might come at the resolution of all this? "It didn't occur to me that I should be reporting in on what my Sisters and Brothers entrusted me with in confidence, Grand Cleric."

That, apparently, hit quite close to her heart and Elthina flinched minutely, sitting back heavily and sighed. Shaking her head in denial, Elthina spoke in a low, defeated tone, "No, you are right, Aisling. Sebastian has considered you a close friend for a long while and it is unworthy of me to expect you to break confidence with him for any reason. You are not my spy amongst the ranks, but a valued Sister amongst family," Some would disagree with you on that, Elthina, but it's a nice sentiment. "Nevertheless, I will ask that should you catch wind of an event like this, that should threaten to emotionally compromise any one of the Chantry, that you warn me when you can."

"Of course, Grand Cleric." On the outside, I gave a well-practiced smile, to which Elthina returned shakily before dismissing me. On the inside, however, I pondered on the loose pact I had just made and the monstrous loopholes therein. It wasn't a promise or a vow made on Andraste or the Maker, but it could possibly be considered a softly placed order and it would be strange for a Tranquil to disobey. We were widely considered mindless, helpless, guileless creatures, barely human to some.

On the other hand, Tranquil were also considered utterly lost or uncomprehending when it came to emotions. It supposedly didn't mix well with our purely logical minds, as if it wasn't considered a variable at all. I would use that to my advantage, as I have done countless times before. How could I know if something would affect someone enough to cause a reaction similar to Sebastian's if I didn't have a personal frame of reference? Emotions and their varied reactions were unquantifiable for me, according to all known literature.

The agreement still applied to Sebastian himself, as I had obviously witnessed such an event again and could, potentially, foresee the eventuality of another, given the event would closely affect him. Any other Sister or Brother of the Chantry was fair game, though, as none of them went out of their way to get to know me or even acknowledge me. There was Petrice, but I was knowledgeable enough in my own previous vindictive streak that I would rather she become emotionally distraught than offer any help at all.

Admittedly, this would probably only work with those who hadn't interacted with other Tranquil on a regular basis. I have never met another who had undergone the Rite so my own experiences could quite possibly be purely unique—as such, the sheltered faithful of the Chantry would only know how I behaved, as the only Tranquil they personally knew, and would only be able to compare it to what texts on the Rite would tell them. What was to say, though, that other Tranquil weren't similar to me, and hid it just as well? There was no reason to assume I was special in any way. If I could parse emotions as a variable as well as use my pre-Rite personality and memories as a template to base my interactions on, why couldn't they? I have a will, instincts, and a mind of my own, so would they? Was I really, truly so different from any other Tranquil? Elthina, who I imagine would have the most knowledge, didn't seem to think so.

I don't know if I want to find out the truth.

I ponder this as I slip out the door to her quarters, slipping on my chapeau quickly as I see some amount of the faithful devotees loitering in the hallway. I also wonder if the walls were thick enough to have kept them from overhearing the conversation that had gone on inside. Both trains of thought are temporarily derailed by the sight of Sister Petrice coming around the corner, a spring to her step and a smug tilt to her lips, and it's just as well that my veil was in place; seeing my face has always made her irater than just my presence could. As she comes nearer, I wonder if it were simply because she was jealous of my looks or she was disgusted by the brand.

There is no time to consider this, however, as she barrels down on me, halting any attempt I could have possibly made to avoid her entirely. It takes a lot of self-control not to make any sort of face or quip at her just to be witty, but I succeed, if only just barely. My back bumps against the wall as she crowds me to it, with that smug sneer on her face. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the small gathering of twittering young Sisters fleeing quietly down the hallway; at least they were smart enough to know when to run.

"I have long awaited this day, Tranquil," She says, her smile wicked and face twisted in what could only be described as barely conceal unholy glee. This woman seriously needed a new perspective on life. Or a hobby.

"Sunday, Sister?" I say, having settled against the wall in a comfortable slump that allowed Petrice to loom all she wanted, yet I could remain untouched. It was a win-win, really. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that the corridor is now mysteriously empty. How convenient.

"No," She growled, rolling her eyes to the ceiling as if to ask the Maker for...strength? Patience? "The day you finally rid us of your presence."

Raising an eyebrow, I start to speak, but she seems to be on a roll, so I let her continue. Past her well-coiffed, severe bun I see Elthina's door edge open just an inch or two and am glad that I don't react as I normally would; smiling at this moment would only incense Petrice more, and could count as a provocation. If she's going to go down, it will be through her own mistakes.

"I have waited an entire year," Petrice says, voice almost desperate and eyes intense. Give or take a few weeks, actually. "For the Grand Cleric to see reason and do away with you, just as I have waited for the Viscount to see the same and rid this city of the Qunari threat. If it means I have to go out of my way to have the correct people to act upon the Maker's will, then so be it."

"Sister," I interrupt as she takes a breath, more than likely to continue her zealous rant. While I'm all for Petrice incriminating herself, and it was just getting so good, I couldn't help but add in my two coppers, "I apologize, but you seem to be mistaken. The Grand Cleric hasn't dismissed me from the Chantry, merely from her quarters."

"What?" She demands, suddenly coming in to grip my shoulders tightly; it's only slightly painful, but a good addition to the image she is portraying. "What did you say?"

"If you'd like, you could speak with the Grand Cleric about it," Again, I can't help myself, as Elthina has begun to open the door fully, and the glimpse I got of her face as it is revealed is perfect. "She's right behind you, after all."

The stricken look upon Petrice's face as she releases me like her hands were burned and turns around quickly to see the same expression of anger and disappointment upon Elthina's face. Elthina stands at her full height, a small tower of incandescent rage and indignation in the face of Petrice's apparent—and admitted—machinations, but when she speaks, it's like the calm before the storm.

"You may return to your quarters, Aisling," Elthina says, speaking over Petrice's stuttering attempts at damage control. I nod, face schooled into perfect neutrality, and edge away from the wall and the two women. "As for you, Sister Petrice, would you step inside with me, please?"

"I….Yes, Grand Cleric," Petrice stammers, her voice shattered and her entire form seeming to slump inward. Conveniently, I don't think I would have felt any pity for her, were things different. She was a bigot, and one supposedly working for the Most Holy, so I doubt any difference on my part would have changed her for the better.

She was a bigot and, even with surrounded by the admitted kindness and charity that Elthina did her best to cultivate here, remained obstinately prejudiced and hard-hearted. She didn't even Witness for the Fereldan's that made their way up, forget the city elves who did the same. She was Elthina's lost cause, not mine, so let the Grand Cleric break her back trying to weather Petrice down. It would take a power greater than mine, even Elthina's, to change that poisonous woman for the better.

Resolutely turning my back on them, I make my way down the corridor. Elthina may have wanted me to go directly to my quarters, but it was only just around midday. Bored I may not be able to be, I would still rather be doing something productive - my lack of personal belongings in my room certainly didn't help in that regard. A quick, though somewhat harried detour, to the library, I returned, laden down with books, to my room. My subject of choice, to the confusion of Elder Stammits, being the Blight and the Wardens who fought against them, as well as a few pamphlets on theories to the origination of the unnatural disaster. Stammits had also given me quite the stink eye for deigning to take any of his beloved tomes, yet remarked that it wasn't as if I could do anything malicious to them.

Before the Fifth Blight, before Lothering, I hadn't cared about such things, such world shattering occurrences; more worried was I about a new technique, a new spell, a new way to bend the Fade to my will. Now, I can do none of those things—the Fade, and its mysteries and joys, was so very far out of my reach—and it could be attributed to the Blight. That, and my foolish inability to not back down from a fight when I thought it unjust.

The guardsmen down in The Gallows could have very well dealt with those deserters without my oh-so-helpful assistance; they were trained combatants and it was what they were paid to do, what they swore oaths to do. I, too, was trained from a young age to fight, to defend, and to survive. Only, the majority of my repertoire was magical in nature, illegal to practice outside of a Circle, and punishable by death or imprisonment if the Templars were feeling merciful; Tranquility was saved for when they were feeling even less charitable. Death would have been kinder.

As it is, I have long since excised that oh-so noble trait from my personality—not that I think much of it, or most other parts of myself, had survived the Rite—and have focused my concerns on other things, such as the Blight. There haven't been any new issues of The History of the Blight to cover the last half of the Fifth—which, strangely enough, was ended by my second cousin, Amata Amell, another mage in the family, who was now Commander of the Grey in Ferelden and their Hero—but there are still plenty of other texts on the previous ones, and the first volume of the latest, though the majority of the ones available to me are watered down for Chantric consumption. That's what one gets when the Chantry is turned to for historical recordings; very little detail and a distinctly rose-colored overview.

It was in these, the texts and tomes that spoke of such horrors of the Darkspawn hordes and the noble few that endlessly fought them, that I nestled myself amongst in my room, upon my bed. This time, though, it wasn't merely my fixation on the knowledge that brought me to the subject, but the practical applications it presented now. If Carver and Bethany were going to trudge down into the Deep Roads to preserve the safety of our family, I would do my best to assist them as I am able; I had already invalidated myself as a more active provider, so this would be my contribution now. And so, I took out a sheaf of parchment from the desk, along with an ink well and quill, and began to studiously and precisely take notes. It was somewhat a struggle to remain as concise and to-the-point as I could be while staying accurate; they, notably my brother, would not have the time in the coming weeks for reading.

Soon, I lost myself in the work and did not resurface for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my ducklings! What did you think? This thing's been sitting in my notebook for a while - or at least half of it - so if there are any issues - typos, grammatical errors - please tell me? I've just typed up the last half and had my beta had a cursory look at it. I'd rather correct the mistake and better the story then leave it alone and have it be soured by it. As always, it's been wonderful writing for you guys! Stick around for the next chapter - it's about halfway finished itself.
> 
> Did I ever mention that I have a playlist for this story? I listen to it as I write. The song that I listened to for this chapter, in particular, is "You're Gonna Go Far, Kid" by The Offspring. Fitting, no?  
> And, if you're feeling a bit generous, head on over to my [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/DragonCreating) and donate!

**Author's Note:**

> Did you enjoy yourself? I sure hope so! And, if you're feeling a bit generous, head on over to my [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/DragonCreating) and donate!


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